


Corrective Therapy

by ladyjax



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: AU, Angel was always a bit of a punk, Gen, Gunn deserved better, Insomnia fic, Male Character of Color
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-03-05
Updated: 2004-03-05
Packaged: 2018-09-26 05:03:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9864071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyjax/pseuds/ladyjax
Summary: Gunn's down on his luck. Gwen's got a better offer.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I always liked Gunn and Gwen and at the time I wrote this, I was clearly pissed about the episode where Gunn gets kicked out of Angel's crew after Fred dies. Mind you, Buffyverse is full of all kinds of sketchy shenanigans so on the level of bad shit that happened over time and bad decisions? Yeah. Okay.

Gunn looked around the small modest apartment he'd rented since moving out of the Hyperion. It was clean, neat and had absolutely no character whatsoever but it had it's uses and at this point that's all that mattered.

The termination papers from Wolfram and Hart still lay on his kitchen table. He hadn't moved them since the day he moved in. When Gunn came out of the hospital and found his personal belongings stacked neatly in the lobby of the Hyperion, that's when he knew he needed, wanted, to disappear.

Hence this place.

He poured himself two fingers of bourbon and tossed it down. The burn down to his stomach was still achingly unfamiliar although a little voice in the back of Gunn's head still whispered sweet nothings about drinking until there was nothing left to drink. It was easy enough to not give in. The bourbon was just...a crutch. One that made it easier to sleep at night.

He still had the mojo. That final brain boost stuck in ways that were a lot less evident than it had been in the beginning. He didn't regret it although he did regret how he'd become a mewling baby trying to defend himself to Angel and his crew. When that had happened, Gunn had felt as though he were watching himself from a distance. *That* wasn't him just as he wasn't the proto-ghetto street thug that everyone secretly believed he was. He was just Gunn.

A knock at the door barely registered in his consciousness. Gunn had lived here for three months and had only once visitor: Lorne. The demon impresario had come by to see how he'd been faring. He was the only one who didn't pretend that everything was okay. That things were copacetic within the halls of Wolfram and Hart since Gunn had been gone. "Honey, if it hadn't been you, it would have been one of them," Lorne had said with asperity.

Gunn appreciated the sentiment.

Whoever was at the door had taken to banging on it. That was enough to bring Gunn out of his chair. Man couldn't be maudlin all on his own. No, some yahoo wanted his attention. "Fuck it," he muttered under his breath. Thrusting himself to his feet, he stalked over to the door and flung it open. "Listen, what the fuck is your problem...."

The words died on his lips when he saw her smile.

"Heard you're free these days," Gwen said matter of factly. "Wanted to know if you'd be up for a little work."

Gunn looked at her then looked back into his apartment, at the papers on the table, the half full bourbon bottle. Gwen waited.

"Is it dangerous?" he asked, still gazing into the now too small apartment.

"Moderately so."

She didn't push because she didn't need to. Just like he didn't need but 30 minutes to throw his modest possessions into two bags, thrust his wallet in his pocket and scrawl a quick note to his landlord telling him that he was moving out. He left the bottle on the table. On their way out the building, Gunn thrust his key and the note through the mailslot of his landlord's apartment.

They stepped out into a balmy Los Angeles night and when Gunn lifted his head to the sky he thought he could see stars.


End file.
